


The Problem of Evil

by Vedicanarchist



Category: La Divina Commedia | The Divine Comedy - Dante Alighieri, Othello - Shakespeare
Genre: Angst, Black Character(s), Cassio finally stops being a dick to Bianca, Dubious Consent, Earth, F/F, F/M, Heaven, Hell, M/M, There's A Tag For That, allusions to racism, discussion of religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 13:14:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19151749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vedicanarchist/pseuds/Vedicanarchist
Summary: When Iago and Othello went to Hell, Othello was Iago's as he'd never been in life.





	1. Inferno

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The characters belong to William Shakespeare, and I do not own them.

Dante, the great poet who had so profoundly shaped Othello’s thinking since he’d become a Christian, was wrong about the metaphysics of Hell. Othello learned that the hard way. Yes, Hell had Nine Rings, with the inner circle reserved for the Treacherous. But Lucifer, unlike God, loved the traitors of the world, and offered them the greatest honors of his kingdom. Upon their arrival, Lucifer changed them into beautiful ice sculptures and used them to decorate his palace in Pandaemonium, the capital of Hell. Most traitors were cold-blooded and remorseless, and their fate was utterly fitting for their station. Lucifer counted Judas, Brutus, and Cassius among his greatest treasures. But Iago, Othello’s Bane, was made of warmer stuff. Instead of making him a statue, Lucifer honored Iago by granting him the wings of a fallen angel, and gifting him with his heart’s deepest desire: the right to torture Othello, for all eternity!

Othello was made to stand waist-high for his first 1,000 years in a shimmering pool of lava in the garden of Lucifer’s palace. Iago was as pale as a ghost, and plastered on his back. Othello, who had scarcely recovered from his ensign’s gut-wrenching betrayal, was blindsided by the unfairness of his plight. But he never should have expected the Devil to be a just ruler. His legs burned, his back ached with the heavy weight of his ensign. He had never noticed it in life, but Iago’s face held all the wild beauty of Lucifer, and the other fallen angels of the realm. How did he ever think him honest? How? Othello kicked himself for the umpteeth time, not that it made any difference now.

“I still don’t understand why you did it.” He growled. Iago leaned down and pressed tender, possessive kisses on the dark contours of his general’s face. He did that often, to Othello’s chagrin (and shameful pleasure).

“I told you many times, and I’ll do so again.” Iago said patiently. He placed his arms loosely around Othello’s neck. His languid, serpentine tones, which had once been so soothing to Othello’s ears, now set his teeth on edge. “I loved you, we were meant to be, and I couldn’t bear the thought of our wives and Cassio coming between us.”

Was he always bound for Hell? It was a question that haunted Othello, especially when he was in the deepest throes of suffering. The loss of his beloved Desdemona borrowed through his psyche like a worm through an apple and drove him mad. If love was the finest manifestation of God that was possible on Earth, then Hell was the state of being alienated from God. A low, wounded groan escaped his throat. Was his dark complexion a symbol of his sin? Had he been marked for this place, the moment he’d been born a Moor? If so, what kind of omnipresent, benevolent God would let that happen? Othello had lost what he’d cherished most in life: the love of God and Desdemona. In a real sense, Iago was all he had left. Othello was Iago’s as he’d never been in life. Iago smiled, his face softening with sick affection. He kissed his general again and began to fumble with his shirt. The wings on his back beat heavily behind him. Othello sagged under the weight and shuddered at his touch.

“Dearest Othello!” He whispered. “Do not fret. I have you now, and will keep you safe. We are both hidden from the sight of God, but that is a small price to pay when we can be together forever.”


	2. Paradiso

Emilia awoke in a garden of pink, white, and red roses. Golden apples glittered on the trees. The aroma they wafted was mouth-watering. Three young maidens were singing, their voices like wind chimes. Emilia recognized them as the three Graces, goddesses of Beauty in classic myth. The Graces moved to the sound of the breeze, their movements suave, coordinated. They were like butterflies around a rose, or stars circling the moon. In the center of the dance stood Venus, the Roman goddess of Love. She was flanked by her son Cupid, and his wife Psyche. Emilia gaped to find Desdemona smiling at her as well. The dance ended, the music died down. Venus cleared her throat. The Graces gave a tinkling laugh, and ran into the trees.

“Ah, yes. We have been waiting for you to regain consciousness. Do you wish to know why you are here?” Venus asked. Emilia nodded. Venus lifted her chin, and tossed back her long mass of golden curls. The goddess of Love had skin the color of peaches and pearls. It shone brightly, almost as luminous as her hair.

  
“The God of Christianity, the faith you followed on Earth, reserved this sphere of Heaven for the world’s great lovers. You and your mistress have earned your places here, because you loved each other dearly despite the fact that you never revealed your feelings. You, Emilia, died a martyr for this love, in a vain attempt to shield your mistress from your husband.”

Emilia stared at her, flinching at the disjointed memory of being stabbed to death by Iago. In truth, she was astonished to find that she’d made it to Heaven. Her faith had been inconstant, marred by doubt and despair at the evil she’d witnessed on Earth. The deities watched her, stoic as sculptures of ice.

“There is much that I do not understand.” She confessed. “How can the faiths of both paganism and Christianity be true?”

It was the lovely Psyche who answered her question. Per the legends, she rivaled Venus in beauty, with silver-blonde hair and gentle brown eyes. “Most religions on Earth contain parts of the truth, but theology is inherently a fallible enterprise, due to the limits of the human capacity to reason. The Christian God exists; He willed us to exist, we inhabit His Heaven, and all of us play a role in the cosmos. He sends people like you to our realm. None of us oppose homosexuality, and there is far less conflict among us than between our followers on Earth.”

“Yes, Emilia.” Desdemona said. “Dante was right about one thing: Heaven contains nine resplendent spheres, each enclosing the last like the shell of a succulent fruit. These holy spheres are the Moon, Mercury, Venus, the Sun, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, the Fixed Stars and the Primum Mobile. We have been assigned to Venus.”

Cupid had a rippling chest, aquiline nose, black curls, and olive skin. He wielded a golden bow with a quiverful of honey-tipped, silver arrows. “You have won the honor to live with Romeo and Juliet, who died for a love forbidden by their rivaling families.” He said, his voice like the sound of a swan. “You will sit among the Saints Perpetua and Felicity, who loved each other and their God, and were martyred for it.”

The lives of these legendary figures flashed before them as he spoke. Saints Perpetua and Felicity were lovely women, with skin as dark as the Moor’s. Felicity was Perpetua’s servant in life, just as Emilia had been Desdemona’s. Emilia was relieved to find that skin color and social class were no bar to Heaven. But she was still confused, and rounded on Desdemona.

“Dear mistress, I’m afraid to say there’s been some mistake. There must be. You loved the Moor, I know you did!”

Desdemona’s smile faded, thin like a waning moon. “I loved you both, and kept my vows to him in life. There is a part of me that will always love him. I have forgiven him for murdering me while he was addled by the lies of your husband. In death, I have made peace with the fact that he had no trust in me, and that my trust in him cost me my life. Some forms of love are not meant to last through the afterlife. I know that now, and love as a life-force has not been fully understood, even by the men of the Church.”

“Oh, I knew it!” Emilia cried. She seized her mistress’ hands in a swift movement she’d never dared in life. “I always knew that men had a warped view of love. Men’s contempt for women has corrupted them, and rendered them incapable of loving us with a full heart. Men’s need to dominate women prevents them from trusting in us. But neither of us are men. If you’ll have me, dear mistress, I would be honored to love you, with my whole heart and for all time.” After Iago spurned her affection, the Moor had been the only man Emilia respected on Earth, and he had let her down in the end.

“I think I would like that,” Desdemona said, a blush mantling her cheeks. “I am no longer your mistress, so please call me by my Christian name!”

  
“Very well, Desdemona,” Emilia said. She leaned forward to place a tender, reverent kiss on her mouth. The deities around them broke into applause. The taste of Desdemona’s lips zinged through her like a spark, and left her heart smouldering in her chest.

“What you said about men is true,” Psyche said. “But only on Earth. Heaven is beyond the boundaries of gender. Its inhabitants are all social equals before God, and love each other as such.” Her husband curled an arm around her waist. She slipped her hand in his, and squeezed it gently. Emilia frowned, biting her lip.

“I am overjoyed to be here, and I’m sure Desdemona will say the same. But there is much that still troubles me. Why did we suffer so much on Earth? Why did my husband betray the Moor, after years of friendship? What was the meaning and purpose of it all?”

Desdemona smiled wryly. “The evil, injustice, and suffering on Earth inspire us to love each other more deeply. Did that not happen with us? Our suffering at the hands of our husbands brought us together.” Her faith had always been simpler, deeper than Emilia’s. But even she looked doubtful.

Venus sighed. “The problem of evil is real, and far beyond my expertise. These are questions for God Himself, so why don’t we send you to Him? The realm of Heaven has two planes of reality: one where you belong with us, and another deeper, more real plane of reality in which you reside in the Primum Mobile with Him and the other souls of Heaven. There is truth, and there is Truth. All souls in Heaven actually live in the Empyrean, abode of the Primum Mobile. It is time to take you there.”

Emilia nodded her assent, and Cupid spread his gossamer wings. He whisked her and Desdemona to the Primum Mobile, the source of all the deepest Truths of the cosmos. The Primum Mobile was a velvety red rose that bloomed in the Empyrean, a lavender stretch of sky beyond the bonds of space and time. The flower’s fragrance was sweeter than the finest perfume, and the Nine Orders of Angels flitted about its petals. They sang in praise of the Lord, their voices like moonlight and golden honey. Emilia gasped to discover that the true forms of all spheres of Heaven fit together as a complex whole, and had their place in the spirals of the rose.

“I must leave you here,” Cupid said, his eyes laughing at the look on her face. He floated back to rejoin his mother, wife, and the three Graces in their place in the rose.

The two women held hands, strolling into the inner workings of the flower. There, at the center of the rose, they beheld three golden spheres, which hung suspended in the air, and fit together in perfect harmony.

“God, Christ, and the Holy Ghost,” Desdemona said in a hushed voice.

She and Emilia fell to their knees, and light poured from the spheres into their brains. In a flash, they knew the answers to all their deepest existential questions. Emilia and Desdemona found that they were blessed to spend eternity in peace, rejoicing in the wonders of these forces.


	3. Purgatorio

They were all dead. Iago had left a pile of bodies behind on Earth. Bianca was as familiar with Dante as any other Venetian of her time. The world’s reprobates who died repenting their sins went to a Purgatory in the afterlife, a place suspended between Hell and Heaven, where they could redeem themselves before entering Heaven. But Earth itself was also a Purgatory, Bianca thought. She and Cassio had unknowingly participated in Iago’s scheme. They were his puppets and pawns; it was her handkerchief Iago used to besmirch Desdemona’s name. Bianca had burned the miserable article. It was important to purge the soul of one’s demons. Earth was the Purgatory in which she and Cassio could find redemption and hope.

  
Did the teachings of the Church truly reflect God’s position on sex? Why did the Church brand her as an adultress for what she had with Cassio? Bianca had gotten used to living with uncertainty in her life.

  
Cassio had tried and failed to get Iago to reveal the motivation for his crimes. In the end, he had him executed. Bianca had no sympathy for Iago. Venice had condemned him; Cassio was only carrying out the sentence. Cassio bound Iago to a scaffold, and tortured him with knives and red-hot irons. Bianca would never forget the sound of Iago’s unearthly shrieks as Cassio thrust the irons into his flesh. Cassio doused the scaffold with oil and set it alight. Iago burned to death with a ghastly grin on his face. His bright, gloating eyes would haunt her dreams. Bianca’s crisis of faith had deepened, afterward.

  
The people of Venice had short attention spans. Soon, they started to move on, and forgot all about the Moor and his wife, who’d once commanded so much love and respect among them. Bianca twisted her lip. Desdemona and her maid, Emilia were too good for this world. She had once envied their innocence and beauty. But in the end, she was the only woman left standing. Privileged ladies like Desdemona tended to believe the best in everyone, and overstepped their boundaries in society. Such behavior was risky, lethal. Desdemona had ruffled feathers by marrying the Moor. She failed to see her fate unraveling before her, until it was too late.

  
Bianca was not stupid. She knew that Cassio had seen her as something pretty to plunder and discard like a toy. But that Cassio belonged to the era before the disaster. Bianca was the only other person who’d survived to remember the sorry tale. Cassio clung to her, kissing her like a parched man drinking water. He washed his hands often, as though they still reeked of Iago’s blood. His eyes were shadowed and sunken. Sometimes, he withdrew into himself, brooding for hours. Bianca would wake to the sounds of him sobbing quietly into the night. Sometimes, she was the one who wept, and he would hold her as she did. He was delicate, far more gentle with her than he was in the past.

  
One night at her house, Cassio presented Bianca with a box wrapped carefully in a silken handkerchief. Bianca opened it to find a glittering diamond ring. The stone cast rainbows all around the room in the firelight. Bianca's smile matched its brilliance. Her heart was like a diamond goblet, filled to the brim with bubbling nectar. 

“I am hopeful for the future, and I think we will have a good life in the coming years,” she said warmly. In a smooth motion, she slipped the ring onto her finger, and tucked the handkerchief into her pocket.

  
“I wish to believe so,” he whispered. “I cannot marry another woman, but wonder if I am fit to have a wife at all. Did I do right by Othello, in the end? Could I have done anything, anything at all to prevent this mess? What will I say to our Maker, when I meet Him after death?” He faltered when she held her hand up.

  
“Some questions have no good answers, in this lifetime. All I know is that we will face Purgatory when we die. But Earth is itself another Purgatory. You and I have the rest of our lives to reflect on our actions, and do our best to atone for the sins we have committed. The burden will be lighter when we bear it together.”

His dark eyes gazed into her peacock-blue ones as though she held the key to his salvation. He was beautiful in his vulnerability. She leaned forward and kissed him, taking charge, savoring the sweet taste of his mouth. His strong hands rippled through her flaxen hair. It felt right, and she smiled into the kiss. When they pulled back for air, panting slightly, she could see that the shadows had passed from his face, and her feeling grew that they would be fine.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed it, please consider commenting and leaving a kudos! I live for your feedback.


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